


The Break Away

by SaltyRobotFriend



Series: DND character origins [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Bard - Freeform, Child Abuse, Crimes, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, PC origin stories, Physical Abuse, Shapeshifter, mafia, running from the mafia, said child is 16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 14:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15888024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyRobotFriend/pseuds/SaltyRobotFriend
Summary: A regular delivery job is derailed by the protagonist's spite for their guardian/boss, and they steal and antique violin and get the fuck outta there.





	The Break Away

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna keep their backstory under the hood but then I wrote 4000 words.

Slim put a hand on their face and felt their features change almost automatically. They’ve done this every morning to the point where they didn’t need to look in the mirror to make sure the form looked completely like a nondescript teenaged human boy. Beige skin, dark brown hair, not as slender as they were unmorphed but still didn’t take up much space, and just very tired and apathetic looking. They couldn’t just morph their mood. The clothes they put on were as uninteresting as their flesh suit, plain t-shirt, jeans, and generic sneakers. The model of a person so low key that, hopefully, one of these days, even the Don would overlook them and forget they existed.

They pulled all their packaged snacks out of their pillowcase and stuffed them into their pockets before hopping down from the shelf they slept on, afraid if they left anything alone for a second, they wouldn’t be there when they returned. They then crept out of the door into the McMansion’s foyer. The loud chattering coming from the living room had woke them up. They smelled cigar smoke.

 _It’s pretty early,_ Slim thought, _for Don Somma to be drinking with his associates._ They crept silently across the marble floor of the foyer up to the portal with their back to the wall. They knew who was in the room by the sound of their voices.

“...Yeah, it’s getting pretty bad over there,” said one of them, Slim regognized him as Don Holimion, a high elf, he was likely wearing a flowing, high elf equivalent of a suit, “Madame Funnelweb’s crew already got a few of mine,no warning or anything, just-” he made a noise that indicated murder.

“She’s just letting her people run around and whack people?” said a dwarf who was always adorned in big shiny rocks. Everyone in Sambar’s underbelly called him “Boss” and nothing else.

“She Sent me a message-” the inflections indicated it was a telepathic message “-she said that this was a warning, and she told _me_ to stay out of Ancoril.”

All four men laughed.

“I mean, we were already in Ancoril, _madame._ We took out the trash in that town, everything was fine until you and your thugs showed up.” the elf was straight up indignant now.

“Calm down, Gali,” said a human called Corradino. The consigliere of Don Somma’s ‘family’.He resembled a very nice pen, often wearing a few subtle gold bands and a completing set of cufflinks that couldn’t be so subtle, because they were cufflinks and he wore them at all hours of the day, just to show off. “How old did you say she was? 70? She’s a kid, relatively speaking, You made mistakes at that age, right?” Corradino was the positive one of the bunch.

Don Holimion made an exasperated sigh of deep offense. “I would _never._ At any rate, are we gonna have to clean up Ancoril after her? all over again?”

“I think we can deescalate this,” said Corradino. “I got a friend who says she eats alone, says she’s almost a dragon in that regard.”

“What’s she hoarding?” asked Boss “What do drow even collect? Spiders? Men? Knives?”

“They like shiny things as much as the next sentient.” said Don Holimion.

“Guys,” said Corradino, subtly mad that the guests interrupted him, and the guests fell silent in turn. “According to my boy she actually collects instruments. Antique instruments. Obsessively. She appraises and researches everything she’s given to make sure this thing actually belonged to whomever it was supposed to belong to.”

There was a ponderous silence.

“One of mine went through an old friend’s house,” said Boss. He probably had the ‘old friend’ whacked. “Found this old violin in the back of his closet.” Slim leaned in closer, the word ‘violin’ calling to mind energizing old jigs or EDM numbers pulled out by struggling artists on street corners and in seedy bars, though she didn’t know what it was called until she got up the courage to ask one what they were playing. "The case was as air tight as you could get it, and there were even papers certifying it-”

“Hold on.” Don Somma spoke up finally. There was a certain inflection in his voice that drove Slim to get up to retreat.

“Slim,” he said a little too sweetly. Slim turned and walked into the living room obediently. Don Somma was a human in his late 50s who looked pretty fresh for his age. He didn’t sport a great deal of frown lines or gray hair. “Eavesdropping again? I’ve told you literally every frickin’ time not to eavesdrop on adults, can’t you remember anything?”

Slim didn’t answer that. Defending their ability to remember things would basically be admitting that they were being disobedient on purpose.

“What the hell, Gali?” Don Somma said with exaggerated indignation. “You told me changelings were smart.”

“I said they were shapeshifters and good liars, that doesn’t make them smart,” Don Holimion replied with the same amount of humor. “I also told you they were difficult.”

“They don’t get rules, and they hate them,” Boss chimed in.

“Do they get consequences, at least?” Don Somma announced.

“Ought to.”

“Normal people do, anyway.”

“They _ain’t_ normal, but it’s worth a shot.”

“C’mere you.” said Don Somma to Slim, his voice becoming sing-songy. As Slim approached, The Don took a long drag on his cigar. “Gimmie you’re hand.” They did. “The right one, _please.”_ They complied, and Don seized their hand and put the cigar out in the center of their palm. Slim tried to take their hand back as the burning tobacco cooked their skin. Don Somma kept a hold on them as the two repulsive smells filled Slim’s nostrils. He let them go when they started to gag on it and they yanked themself away, nearly tripping over the coffee table as they retreated. Don Somma coughed and snorted, also apparently bothered by the smell. He pressed the butt of his cigar into the ashtray.

“You get it now, Slim?” Don Somma demanded, “you drop eaves and that’s what happens.”

“Yes sir I understand,” said Slim quickly between sharp intakes of air.

“Do you though?” The Don still seemed jovial about the whole thing. “You think he gets it, boys?”

“I doubt it,” chucked Don Holimion.

“I understand, I won’t eavesdrop again,” said Slim, trying to keep their voice even, because the Don didn’t like frantic whining, even after he himself just tried to burn a hole in your hand.

“We’ll have to see about that,” The Don retorted. He waved Slim away. “Go back to bed, we were talking.” Slim exited, and the Don yelled “and I better hear that door close!” after them. They loudly walked back down the hall and shut the door soundly, but not daring to slam it, behind them. The men were silent the whole time.

Slim sat by the door, pulling a vial out of their shoe. They managed to twist the cap off with one and a half hands and dripped the potion onto the burn.

Once the pain ebbed a bit Slim cracked the door open. The voices of the men was too muffled for them to hear anything else.

✧*:･ﾟ✧

Don Somma called Slim out of their cabinet hours later. The two walked into his office, which was an earth and metal colored study currently lit by the afternoon light. Don Somma took his seat in the large leather office chair in front of the large window and once he was seated Slim took their place in the smaller straight backed chair across from them.

“So, I get the feeling you’ve been feeling a little restless lately,” said Don Somma condescendingly, “but luckily we have a job for you. Spike’s gonna drive you to Sundrah and the two of you are gonna pick up a package from an associate of ours, and then I need for you two to take it to Anchoril. Spike will take it from there.” Slim just nodded. Whatever questions they could have would not be answered. “And Slim, I know you don’t like to listen it’s _very_ important that you listen to me. Do not open the box. Capisce?”

“I understand,” said Slim.

Don Somma leaned over his desk. His face remained relaxed as his eyes burned into Slim’s. “I know you understand, just like I know you understand ‘No eavesdropping on me and my guests,’ but you did it anyway.”

“I won’t look in the package, I promise.”

“Don’t interrupt.” Slim fell silent. “You oughta be thankful I could put up with your disrespect for as long as I could, but you’re pushing me every damn day. You don’t know how close I am to throwing you out in the gutter.You’re a smart kid, you can weave a rich tapestry of an alias anyway. I just want you to use that same imagination to figure out what would happen if you keep fucking around.” Slim just nodded. The Don got up, still staring slim down, and retrieved a bag from the closet. He put Slim’s bag of tools on his desk.

“Spike’ll be around at 8 to pick you up, you’ll get these when he arrives. I expect you both back from Anchoril by 10 tomorrow morning, and Slim,” The Don paused to make sure Slim was listening, “if you try anything, I’m gonna find out about it.”

✧*:･ﾟ✧

Spike was a tall dragonborn with slate gray and venom green scales. The last time the two saw each other Slim was eye level with his chest, they were now eye level with his snout when he looked down at them. Don Somma threw Slim’s bag at them. He reiterated the instructions to them both, mostly to Slim, before finally dismissing them.

During the long, silent car ride that followed Slim looked through their bag, finding their fake IDs, their aliases’ clothes, lock picks, and kazoo stuffed in there. They pulled out the outfit that belonged on the sailor, Rhapsody, a character that that wouldn’t seem that out of place in Sundrah’s docks. They stuffed their other fake IDs and lock picks, anything that’d raise an alarm if they ran into cops, in the pack they’d keep hidden under their costume.As they got dressed they morphed into Rhapsody, their muscles bulged to fit the wide flannel shirt and cargo pants.Their skin was tinted blue, and they made their hair look frizzy with salt. They felt the most comfortable in this identity, like they were slipping into a large, soft sweater, even as spike was feigning horror at their transformation as if he’d never seen it before. They now thought of themselves as Rhapsody as if they were actually born and lived on the high seas.

Slim fell even more into the Rhapsody persona when they stepped out of the car and the briny sea breeze filled their nose and hair. They could see the sea between the buildings, it stretched out beyond the curve of the earth. Just being by the sea felt freeing to Rhapsody, despite Spike watching them like they were a mischievous toddler. As the pair walked, Rhapsody barely heard someone playing an absolute banger on their fiddle. The melody wove perfectly with the breeze and the waves on the wharf, and they almost forgot that the Don had dragged them out there to pick something up until Spike gave them a thwap across the head.

They climbed down the retaining wall to where the rocks met the water and Slim crawled into a pipe as Spike waited outside. Slim found the package way back in the shadows of the small tight space, plastic and tightly sealed. It was almost the length of their arm. Slim flashed back to the conversation the bosses had earlier that day, about Madame Funnelweb and the violin of some historical importance. There was a lock on it, which Slim was picking open before they could process it. It was too dark for them to see but they were able to pick the lock by feel thanks to years of practice. They popped the case open quietly, checking over their shoulder to make sure Spike wasn’t watching. They felt inside the case, their fingers finding four strings and polished wood. Their heart skipped a beat.

And then their whole body jolted as Spike yelled “What’s the hold up?!”

“I’m looking!” Slim called back.

“Look harder, we’re on a time limit!”

They felt the violin, trying to ‘see’ as much of it as they could with touch. They felt the kinks in the slack strings and some superficial scratching in the wood. Said scratches have been filled in with drops of varnish. The leather chin rest was flaking. Slim lifted the violin carefully from it’s place and found the softened papers underneath, none of which they could read in the dark, but they felt a history in the instrument itself, like the songs it played were still ringing in its body. This was definitely the violin they mentioned that morning, the one that was supposed to be a gift to the spider lady in Ancoril. Slim didn’t know anything about Madame Funnelweb outside of what the bosses said about her, but they imagined this old thing on a wall of other unused instruments of apparent historical significance in a museum meant for one person’s eyes, or all of those hoarded, as the bosses put it, stacked on top of each other in a shed or something because why would you put your illicitly obtained antiques on display (Slim got that some people did that, but they usually didn’t get to keep them).

“Slim! Pick up the pace!”

 _Ok,_ Slim thought, _put it away, shut the case, Don Somma will never know if you just…_ They felt the ghost of the burn in their palm. They already heard The Don insulting them again for disobeying him, maybe not over this, but over something later on, inevitably.

They dug the other costumes out of their bag, shoved the violin, and the fraying bow when they found it, into the bag and stuffed the clothing they could fit on top of it, already asking themself what the hell they were thinking. They crawled backwards out of the pipe, cradling their purse in their arm until they crawled out and Spike saw them again.

He threw his hands in the air, shouting, “Where’s the package?”

“I couldn’t find it,” Slim said, shrugging. “It wasn’t in there.”

“’Wasn’t in there’? Where the hell else could he have put it?”

“I don’t know, I was following your—The Don’s direction.”

Spike turned his head to look at slim squarely with one eye. “Let me see your bag.”

“What for?” Slim asked, thinking they pulled off a genuinely confused tone of voice.

Spike was almost running up to them, hand out in front. “Just hand it over.”

Slim handed the bag over slowly, not wanting to get into a one on one fight with the dragonborn. As he felt the fuller-than-before bag, Slim reached behind them for their knife, finding it in their back pocket. Spike dug into the bag, dumping the extra outfits into the puddles at his feet, and he pulled out the violin looking slim square in the eye. “What’s this?”

Slim just looked at the violin for a hot second, realizing immediately that a lie was not going to deescalate the situation. But they did say; “That’s mine,” with an honest confidence.

“You’re stealing from the Don?”

“It was never gonna be the Don’s.”

Spike put it back in the bag and slung it across his broad back before grabbing Slim, who as Rhapsody was almost as big as he was but still not nearly as strong, by the scruff. Slim drew the knife and palmed it. Spike pulled out his phone, and Slim knew the Don was at the other end after a few taps on the screen.

“Hey boss, we got a bit of a situation here with Sli-” Slim shoved the knife into Spike’s softer spot under his chin, cutting his words off in a deathly gurgle and causing him to drop his phone into the water. Slim withdrew the knife and sliced the strap of their bag from spike with the bloodied blade and ran before they could see the bitter venom dripping from his fangs, cradling their bag and covering their face as they were overtaken by a cloud of noxious gas tinged with blood. It diffused quickly and Slim kept running over the rocks, their neoprene boots just catching on the slick, uneven terrain.

They made it to the harbor and hid in the shadows of a jetty, their eyes scraping the rocks they just ran across for any sign of their accomplice. They didn’t look for very long before their legs made them run again. Hiding under a jetty with an antique violin that must’ve been stolen at least three times by now was no way to live the rest of their life. They climbed up onto the dock, keeping an eye out for a familiar, malevolent face. They looked down at their hands, finding them milky white. They hid behind a box, making themself focus on Rhapsody’s image. Before their eyes, their hands turned back to blue, scaly, and thick with callouses. ‘Rhapsody’ rose from her hiding spot.

Farther out towards the sea they saw a barge stacked high with shipping crates. They looked up at the barge, and back around at the dock, busy with a healthy mix of tritons, humans, half orcs and other rough seabound dudes. No sign of their friend, or any of the Don’s other enforcers around. Not yet anyway.

 _As long as you’re stealing from the Don and knifing his enforcers, you should probably get the fuck out of Sundrah,_ thought Slim, _and out of Lantan altogether._ After tying the strap back over their body they ran toward it. As they approached they saw that the engine was revving up and the last of the crew was boarding.

They lept onto the back of the ship, slowly climbing the hull and clambering over the railing. They ducked into a shipping container and waited. They looked themselves over as they waited. Spike’s poison didn’t seem to do any damage. They barely felt the ship move beneath them and cast off into the sea. They snuck out of the container and into the cabin below, finding an empty room and breaking into it. It was barely bigger than the cabinet they were in back in Sambar, but it was private, and the cot was more comfortable than a shelf. They hid their bag on the top shelf, behind the protective clothes waiting in there.

✧*:･ﾟ✧

Slim managed to keep a low profile during the barge’s trip over the Shining Sea. They got off the boat the same way they boarded when they docked in Samarash, shifting into Cora, their other human persona, before heading to the train station. They needed to get as far inland as they could, outrun any of Don Somma’s eyes as fast as possible.

After a long train ride, which Slim spent trying not to have a complete meltdown over their impulse-driven weeks long escape in a crowded train car, they got off in Kormul, a city set under a wide dome of sky, between mountains in the south and a lake on the east end and opened up into a wide open field to the north.

They walked down the street with a tourist map in their hand, looking for the subway line that’ll get them to a cheap motel on the edge of town. They’d figure their next move out after sleeping in a bed. Their hand frequently went to their purse, feeling the violin inside to make sure it didn’t suddenly fall apart during their trip. They stopped in front of a window full of guitars displayed in a rainbow. They looked through the window into the shop, seeing even more instruments, including violins. Their thumb tapped the side of their purse, and they figured, _Maybe I should get an actual case for this thing._

The floor of the store was crowded with drumsets, amps and keyboards. Slim was immediately sidetracked by the synthesizers, finding the biggest and most elaborate one and idly tinkered with the keys and dials.

“Gooood morni-”

Slim jumped, instantly putting four feet between themself and the saleswoman that had snuck up on them.

“Oh, sorry,” said the half elf, “didn’t mean to scare you.” Her nametag read ‘Ivy’. Ivy had hair and eyes that were the exact same shade of electric blue, and her face looked perfectly laser cut from a chunk of amber. It was difficult to gauge her age due to elven ancestry, but she looked to be in her mid 30s. “Anyway, you seem to be having fun with this bad boy,” Ivy said, putting a hand on the synthesizer.

“Oh no,” said Slim, “I actually came here for-” they pulled the violin out of their purse, “-a case, and some strings? I guess?” The strings looked pretty janky to Slim’s untrained eye.

“Sure,” said Ivy, leading Slim to the counter. “How long have you been playing?”

“I actually just got it, as a gift, from a friend of mine.” Slim was a little too exhausted to convincingly lie, but Ivy didn’t seem to notice.

“Cool,” she said. “I’ve been playing since I was 10, when my parents told me I had to pick an extracurricular.” Slim nodded and didn’t bother asking what she meant by ‘extracurricular’.

“I think this also needs to be restrung?” said Slim, extracting the bow from their purse.

“Re-haired, yeah,” said Ivy, going behind the counter and taking both the violin and bow from Slim. She looked over the beat and patched up violin with an appraising eye. She blew into one of the F holes, expelling a cloud of dust from the other. “You know how to restring this?” She put the violin back on the counter. Slim shook their head. Ivy pulled out an envelope and some tools from behind the counter and went on clipping the old strings off. She kept glancing at Slim as she worked, giving them the same appraising look.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Ivy asked.

“S—Cora,” said Slim.

Ivy, then Slim in turn, took a quick look around, to find that no one was listening and were just doing their own business around the store. Ivy leaned in, asking, “That your human name?”

Slim cocked their head in confusion. That was the first time they’d ever gotten that reply. As if answering the question, Ivy looked them in the eye, and hers shifted from bright blue to a cloudy, pupilless white, then back again in a blink. Slim looked Ivy up and down, now studying her.

“Are you a changeling?” Slim asked breathlessly. Ivy nodded. Her face sincere. Slim stared. Up until today they knew other changelings exited in theory but they’ve never actually seen one.

“Do you go by Cora by default?” Ivy asked.

Slim shook their head, saying, “My, guardian? Called me Slim.”

Ivy gave them another appraising look, their eyebrows furrowed. “Where you from?”

“I just came from Lantan.”

“Before that?” Ivy asked. Slim shrugged. They didn’t know what to make of the sad look Ivy was giving them. “You have a place to stay?” she asked gently.

“I should have enough for a hotel—How much does that cost...?” Slim looked at the restrung violin and the yet to be re-haired bow. They could maybe afford either to get those things fixed or get a hotel for one night. If they spent the money on the violin, they’d at least be able to keep it after tonight. Ivy seemed to notice the math they were doing.

“It’s on me,” she said. “Also, I have a couch if you’d rather crash on that then in a hotel. My apartment’s kind of disorganized but I’m not gonna charge you for it.”

Slim looked at Ivy critically. “What’s the catch?”

“Like I said, I’m kind of a pig. Either way, I can show you how to play this.”

Slim thought about it, but it didn’t take them long before they said, “Yes, to the couch and the, apprenticing, if I can have both?”

“Of course,” said Ivy, smiling. “One thing though, do you want to go by Cora, or Slim?”

Slim thought about it. ‘Cora’ didn’t feel natural, but they just hated ‘Slim’. It wasn’t a name, it was a best a fun nickname, and the way Don Somma said it could only be taken as an insult. ‘Rhapsody’ didn’t even feel like their name for them, that was a costume they put on when they needed to. They stood there for a long time agonizing over a name, and Ivy waited silently and let them mull it over as they re-haired the bow.

They finally said “...Sky?”

“Alright Sky,” said Ivy as they left the counter to get a case for the newly strung violin.

“It’s spelled ‘s-k-i-e’,” said Skie as Ivy packed the case with a rosin and some cleaning supplies. They didn’t know why they specified that, but it felt right.

Ivy grinned. “I think we’ll get along fine.”


End file.
